


It's A Metaphor, Dean

by casbean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, praises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has a lot to say about his crappy car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Metaphor, Dean

“You really think my car is crappy?” Cas asks much later, when they’re alone.

Dean looks at him, soft and sad eyes in his ACDC shirt, hair still wet from the shower. After all they’ve been through, being here in the familiar bedroom, alive and breathing in old t-shirts and overused boxers, Dean feels completely distraught by Cas’ simple question. In a way, it doesn’t matter at all, but in another, he can’t find the strength in himself to tell the truth - that that car isn’t even good enough for Bobby’s abandoned junk yard.

“It’s not… _crappy_ ,” Dean sighs as he turns off the light.

They settle on the bed, Cas slipping his legs under the covers and nudging them against Dean’s bare thighs. In a familiar gesture Dean slides his arm under Cas’ shoulder and pulls him against his chest, and Cas rests his forehead against his neck, arms around his torso, body fitted against his.

“It’s just… old.” Dean offers instead. “It’s got a lot of mileage, y’know, been through lots of bumps in the road. It’s rusty, it’s used, it’s… a bit broken. But beauty’s in the eyes of the beholder, right? ” he adds, nudging Cas closer and smirking. “You’re the one who taught me that. Guess you have a type,” he adds after a beat.

Dean feels Cas moving next to him, wiggling up until their eyes meet. “I guess I do,” he murmurs.

His palm scrapes against Dean’s cheek and he places a smooth, soft kiss on his lips. The hunter breathes in his fresh scent, smiles at Cas’ skin still a bit humid his lips that taste like toothpaste. Dean caresses Cas’ cheek, too pale, he always worries that Cas is still fragile after the whole Rowena spell thing. But then they pull away and he can see through the dim light that an adorable blush is glowing on Cas’ cheekbones, and he feels a pleasant warmth curl up in his stomach. It’s over, and they’re okay, they’re alive, and they’re together. It’s all good.

Cas nests back in Dean’s arms and they stay silent for a moment, until Cas speaks again. His voice is low, his words rumbling against Dean’s chest as he strokes his fingers over Dean’s shirt.

“You know, there are very good reasons why I like this car so much.”

Dean’s eyes flutter as Cas’ voice, as always, guiding him towards a pleasing state of relaxation. He feels more peaceful than he’s been in a long time. Cas is heavy, warm, secure under the covers with him; no danger awaits them, no threat, they’re here together and Dean cannot imagine anything better.

“Yeah,” he murmurs absently. “I like my car too.”

“It’s more than that,” Cas gently scolds.

Dean makes an effort to stay awake, to listen to his boyfriend, who seems to have elected this moment as extremely important to share his love for his crappy car.

“I know it can appear, from the outside, like it’s old, rusty, and scarred. Like it’s… ‘crappy’. But I know that car, inside and out,” Cas presses himself even tighter against Dean, lips brushing delicately on his collarbone as he speaks. “But it’s not true. That _car_ is… it’s the exact opposite of broken. If God has ever created anything near its own image of perfect, if such a thing would ever exist, it would be… that car.”

Dean grunts to indicate he’s still listening, absentmindedly brushing a hand through Cas’ hair.

“I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for that car, you know. Maybe that car has made mistakes, and some may believe that rust has devoured it beyond repair, and that evil has clawed its way so deep inside of it, it can never be cleaned. But I know that it will always be, at its core, a being of pure strength, and love, and devotion, a being of light. Nothing can ever change that. That... car, is my reason to live, my reason to go on, and I.. I love him. With all my heart and all my grace.”

Dean twitches, suddenly uncomfortable. He’s beginning to sweat, Cas is heavy on top of him, keeping him from moving, almost stifling him.

“Cas, no offense, I mean, I love my car too, but it’s still just a car,” he huffs, opening his eyes and brushing a palm up and down Cas’ arm. That guy can be such a dork when he wants to be.

Cas sighs loudly, purposely, and then pauses in a very human manner.

“... I wasn’t actually talking about a car, Dean.”

This time Dean’s eyes shoot wide open, the dopey, sleepy smile wiped right off his face. Wait, what? Cas’ words about his car - that apparently _weren’t_ about a goddamn car - are playing back in his head, over and over and over. A raging heat is spreading through his chest, on his cheeks, and his heart is throbbing under Cas’ palm. The angel must feel it, but he doesn’t say anything and just wait calmly, still pressed tightly against him.

Dean should’ve known that a simple, pre-sleep and post-shower conversation about a freaking car with his boyfriend couldn’t _possibly_ have been the simple, innocent moment he hoped it to be.

“Well,” Dean finally says in a small voice, several minutes later. He attempts to clear his throat, but his voice is still just as flaky. “I guess that, uh, that car, I’m sure it loves you back, y’know. With all its… rusty, old, broken heart.” He manages to articulate.

Another silence stretches in the dark between them, much shorter than the first one.

Cas smiles, turns and kisses the crook of Dean’s neck. “I know,” he simply says.

Dean breathes out and braces his arms closer around Cas’ shoulders, breathing in the smell of his hair, of his neck, kissing his forehead and his temple.

Yeah. Maybe Cas is right. That car isn’t that crappy after all.


End file.
